Blue Blood Tastes The Same
by ko-drabbles
Summary: The smell of "Commoner's" coffee and blood hung in the air, and Haruhi considered her position. She'd never really considered herself as weak before, but now... She was like prey. One day, Tamaki would decide to eat her, and there was nothing she could do about it... Right? Honestly, she doesn't know why he doesn't just get it over with...
1. In the Lions' Den

Haruhi Fujioka had never met a ghoul. She lived in a fairly comfortable neighbourhood, went to a prestigious school, and didn't really talk to strangers… or many people, for that matter. She exchanged pleasantries, was civil, and that was about it. She had a goal to reach, and that took precedence over being some sort of socialite. So… Why was she in this sort of situation?

All she wanted to do was find a quiet place to study, the libraries (all four of them) full of chattering students; which meant a lot of wandering around and hoping she could find a room that was both quiet and available for student use. Ouran was a big place, but she _had_ to make her way to the music room she'd _heard_ was "abandoned" in the hopes of saving some of her precious time to study.

If a time machine was ever invented, she was going to go back in time and warn herself. Seriously.

While silent outside, when she opened the door, there was music and chatter, forks and knives scraping against fine china. It looked like some kind of fancy restaurant, some boys going around in suits and aprons, plates and trays balanced effortlessly, and light piano music dancing in the air; courtesy of a blonde boy sitting at a grand piano.

Damn rich people. They could be using this time to study, but here they are. Why did Ouran even have a restaurant up here, anyway?

The music stopped, a discordant note cutting through the atmosphere, and she found a couple of people staring, namely the servers. There was some forced sounding chatter, which was a little jarring in itself, but before she could really think much of it she realised that the young pianist was rushing over towards her.

"Excuse me, sir, but this is a private club," He explained, stopping a little too close but nothing all that invasive, "You need a membership, I'm afraid; so, I have to ask that you leave. My apologies, but rules are rules. Right, Kyoya?"

A thin, black haired boy peered up from where he was sitting on an over-stuffed, ornate couch, his glasses catching the light. If he didn't look like he could be blown away by a strong gust of wind, she might've been scared; in fact, if she were brutally honest with herself, she did feel some minor, instinctual tugging in her gut, but she ignored it.

"Yes. I'm afraid you'll have to leave," The boy – Kyoya – nodded, slowly rising from his seat. His uniform was similar to the other waiters – she supposed that was the most apt description – but not as fitted. His waistcoat was loose and awkwardly cinched in at the waist, his thin thighs swallowed by his trousers, which were only really kept up by his belt. It was… alarming, in all honesty; he looked like some sort of high-fashion concept sketch.

"How do you know I don't have a membership?" She challenged. She didn't _want_ one, obviously, but more to be difficult. They hadn't done anything to check and didn't even know her name – that blond guy was under the impression she was a boy after all, not that she really cared either way. Was it the uniform? It was probably the uniform…

"We make an effort to remember our dear clients in order to form a closer, more personal relationship," The blond explained with a flourish, Kyoya coming over to join the conversation. She wasn't that bothered, really; her gaze shifted over the room and its patrons.

It was a nice place with tasteful decorations, like some expensive restaurant out of a movie, and it seemed like they went all out. As expected of students here, she supposed. There were candles and flowers at every table, the servers carrying on as if she weren't there, despite their initial staring. Meat was popular, it seemed, but she supposed that they could certainly afford it – wait.

The dishes were _just_ meat, no vegetables or side dishes to be seen, and a lot of it looked almost _raw_. That was enough to put her on edge, even if she thought it was ridiculous; blue meat was supposed to be a delicacy, right? Still, something in her told her to **run**.

That was when she spotted one girl, sitting on her own, frozen with her fork halfway to her mouth. Nothing was particularly notable about her, accept for something she really couldn't ignore; on said fork was… an eyeball. A _human_ eyeball, she was sure. It stole the oxygen from her lungs, and she had to dig her heels in to stop herself from taking off in a sprint right then and there.

They were ghouls. If she tried to run, being as slow as she was, they would catch up to her in no time. She could be staring at her murderer right that second, the chipper blond might look somewhat flamboyant, but the tailored waistcoat and shirt basically _flaunted_ the fact her was strong; especially compared to the sickly boy next to him.

"Yeah, fine, I… I'll go," She stammered out, and then cursed herself for it. There was a shift in his expression, the cheery smile fading into something darker and a lot _toothier_ , but his eyes. As with all ghouls, his eyes were the thing that scared her the most, black surrounding red and gazing at her like she was his prey.

Because, in that moment, that was exactly what Haruhi Fujioka was.

The worst thing was, they caught the attention of a couple of other servers; two identical boys with ginger hair. They seemed curious, before they broke out into Cheshire cat grins, their eyes turning those same, horrific colours.

Despite how idiotic, how futile, it might have been; she ran.

Her shoes hit the marble floor at such a rate that she actually _hurt her feet_ , and she ran faster than she ever had before. But it was futile. He moved far too fast, and while she just about managed to get down the corridor, it wasn't enough. He tackled her to the ground, looming over her for a second before taking a deep inhale, the groan sounding too similar to something she didn't want to think about.

"You smell delicious, human," He growled, and all she could do was stare into those demonic, glowing eyes as he licked his lips, "There are certain doors you shouldn't open, you know. If you were a ghoul, you might have enjoyed your stay; now, however, I can't let you live. Besides… I'm sure you'll taste _heavenly_ ~"

"Please don't!" She tried to beg, tears in her eyes as a string of _drool_ dropped from the corner of his mouth and onto her cheek. It was all she could do, scared out of her mind and about to be eaten, "Or… If you do… Please don't tell dad I ran away. I don't want him to… To think… Even though he will…"

She was just babbling. Not that she'd be able to talk her way out anyway, being underneath a hungry ghoul, but all she could do was stutter out that one request, screwing her eyes closed and bracing herself for the pain. Hopefully, it'd be quick, but this moment seemed to last a lifetime and… nothing was happening.

She slowly opened her eyes, and a beautiful pair of blue irises greeted her; not the red and black sclera from before. There was something there, some shift in his expression that made him seem almost _human_ , an unidentifiable emotion. It was slow, but unexpected, when he pushed himself to his feet. It didn't look like he knew what was happening himself, his eyes wide and acting as if he was on autopilot, and he just kept looking at her the whole time – right in the eye.

"Boss?"

The inquiry startled her, and the staring match broke. The two twins stood there, eyes red and black and inhuman, but their faces softer; more questioning than anything else. There was a moment of silence, of deliberation, and the blond spoke low and calm.

"I'm not hungry enough right now, not for a delicacy like it will be…" He stated, still looking a little shell-shocked beneath his calm façade, but the twins didn't seem to notice the tense, silent atmosphere.

"Well, boss, maybe we should eat her ourselves -?" One purred, only to be cut off by a loud growl.

"IT'S MINE!" The "boss" bit, snarling and baring his teeth, before that cooler air took over. It was quiet again, for a moment or two, before he turned on his heel and walked back the way he came. He paused for only a moment before disappearing, just enough to give instructions that were obviously for her, "It will come to the club **tomorrow** , after school. It will not go home. It will not **hide**. It will do as it's told or be torn to pieces."

She could barely process it over the confusion, not knowing what happened, but the twins merely looked at each other and shrugged. Their eyes returned to their normal – or, not ghoulish – colours, and gave her their own goodbyes.

"Looks like it's your lucky day, human; better do as you're told!"

* * *

 **A/N:** **I just want to make it clear. Attitudes and personalities change with AUs, and I want to point this out before I get a million reviews saying they're OOC. Tamaki and Kyoya are going to be explored a little later, don't worry. In fact, everything will. Patience is a virtue, after all...**

 **Also, comments help inspire my productivity, so please go ahead! :)**


	2. Apron Stains

Haruhi spent the next day with her heart hammering in her chest and her stomach doing somersaults. Her guts just seemed to be writhing, and she really hoped that ghouls didn't find that irresistible. How was she even in a situation like this? It wasn't supposed to happen to an ordinary person, all those stories on the news sounding so impersonal, so improbable, but now...

She sighed, swallowing against the lump in her throat without any tangible change, trying to focus on the textbook in front of her, but it was ultimately useless. Her mind kept replaying the boy's words from yesterday, ice and frost forming along her small intestine from the tone alone. Dangerous.

Although, she had to wonder about the boy with glasses. He couldn't be a ghoul, he was just so... _frail_. Like he'd crack and shatter into pieces if someone just brushed against him. A job like that would certainly put a human off their food, and it wasn't like he was rushing over to eat her, either. Unlike the blond... Were they blackmailing him too? Threatening him? He didn't look like he could defend himself from a human _toddler_ , let alone _five ghouls_...

That was another thing, what could she do? She'd just been on autopilot, going home and sleeping without a second thought, almost in semi-subconscious denial. Now, it was too late. School would end in less than five minutes, clubs would begin, and they all seemed serious about... tearing her apart...

But it wasn't like she could just walk in, right? It was a club full of ghouls, who'd be more than capable of killing her. Haruhi's self-defence skills only went so far, and she couldn't run all that fast, even with the adrenaline in her system. Going wasn't an option, but neither was running away, and it was all just so _frustrating_ at this point.

The bell went off, cutting through the quiet of the classroom, and was quickly followed by scraping chairs and chatter, the teacher making some half-hearted attempt at controlling a bunch of excited teenagers. She didn't rush, didn't move for a moment, sitting and staring at the textbook as if it would give her all the answers. Her actions were so painfully slow, so horribly foggy and distant. She was so... scared, she supposed.

No one wanted to be that easy-to-scare, horror movie heroine, but this was real life and a real danger. He thought of her as food, called her "it", like they weren't even on the same ground. No, to ghouls, humans were cattle to be slaughtered; that's what everyone said, right? All those late-night shows that spoke of ghoul psychology as if it weren't mostly conjecture and false data.

She finally managed to get her limbs to cooperate enough to put away her things, taking small steps on her way out of the classroom, trying to delay the inevitable. Her footsteps almost seemed to echo in the empty room, scraping against her skull and pulling her pale lips into a grimace. The door felt as if it weighed a ton or so, and it took her far too long to open it, but she wished she hadn't.

Instead of being greeted by an empty hallway, there were three tall, grown men in suits and sunglasses, staring at her like lions observing a wounded gazelle. If she'd felt cold before, she was freezing now, a tremor running through her as one lowered his sunglasses, staring over the frame and right into her soul.

"Miss Fujioka?" He inquired, and she nodded dumbly, unsure what she could even say to that, "We're associates of the Ouran dining establishment, here to escort you. If you would be so kind as to follow me..."

She followed the man who'd spoken, knowing that there was no real way out of this situation, deciding to just comply and hope. The other two silently followed, flanking her, obviously poised to grab her if she tried to get away. This was just so... alarming. So creepy. She honestly felt sick just thinking about the possibilities. She wanted to stop thinking on the what-ifs, but she just couldn't.

The men were silent the whole way to the third music room, to that awful "club", and the first even opened the damn door for her in some show of pseudo-gentlemanly behaviour. There were no patrons inside, however; just a few of the pretty-boy waiters from the day before rushing around, setting tables and fiddling with centrepieces.

She felt a weight slam into her, her heart stopping for a good moment before looking down, seeing said weight hugging her leg. It was a small, childish looking boy with golden hair, who was also clutching onto a stuffed pink bunny. Well, this had an... odd start.

"Haru-chan!" The boy greeted, all too cheerful and all too familiar, "Thanks for helping out! Tama-chan said you smelled good, and you really do!"

Straight back into creepy territory then. "Who are you calling Haru-chan?!" She snapped without thinking, "How do you even know my name?"

"With that… _uniform_ , I would've thought it were obvious, Mr Honour Student," The boy with glasses spoke suddenly, making her jump at least a foot in the air. For someone who didn't look intimidating, he had a certain air about him that just seemed… alarming. It would explain how he survived so long in the company of ghouls, at least.

However, something she was starting to notice; _sir_ and _Mr_. Not that it bothered her, but the men had asked if she was _Miss_ Fujioka. She didn't like it, the idea of someone doing research, not just making an assumption. Would the blond, Tamaki, go that far? It didn't seem like it was the boy in the glasses, and the other blond seemed too young to even think about doing that. There was still the twins, but they seemed to defer to their _boss_ …

"Kyoya, go sit," Another boy prompted, having put down the crate he was carrying. He was intimidating, to put it plainly; tall, muscular, black hair that was cropped short. He looked like he could break Kyoya clean in half just by breathing in his direction, but the look in his eyes... was soft. Worried. She didn't really get what there was to be worried about, especially if that boy was a ghoul, all Kyoya was doing was laying the table.

"I'm fine, Mori-senpai," He huffed, waving the other boy away with a rather effeminate gesture. His voice was low, trying not to let Haruhi hear, but being the only two speaking that was near impossible, "I'm not exerting myself, I keep telling you that –"

"Still, go and rest, I'll finish up," Mori insisted, taking the forks from Kyoya's bony fingers as the other boy gave a drawn-out sigh, rolling his eyes. The was a moment when he opened his mouth, poised to respond, but he seemed to think better of it as his mouth shut with an audible click, shaking his head as he walked towards one of the sofas.

"Handling cutlery isn't going to break my arm," Kyoya threw half-heartedly over his shoulder, perching on the edge of the sofa with his back almost painfully tense and straight, balancing his laptop on those willowy thighs. Haruhi really wasn't sure what to make of that interaction, head cocked to the side and brow furrowed as she turned over what she'd heard in her head, morbidly curious.

"Alright, so your job's going to be fixing a few of the floral arrangements, I'm going to go put on the steaks that'll be served with the coffee bean sauce, the boss'll start tuning the stupid piano…" One of the twins muttered as they strived in with the other, seemingly going over a checklist of what they had to do before opening. An apron was tied around his lithe waist, a few red-brown stains Haruhi _did not want to know about_ were plainly visible on the white cloth.

"Oh look, the appetiser's here," The other twin snorted, only to be smacked upside the head by the tall, muscular boy as he passed the two.

"Here," The clearly more frazzled twin sighed, pushing a list of ingredients into Haruhi's hand, much to her confusion, "If the boss isn't going to eat you yet, at least make yourself useful and go get these from the store – I'll tell him where you've gone."

"I can go, Kaoru," Kyoya volunteered from his spot on the sofa, looking more than a little irritated that everyone seemed to be brushing him out of the way, "I'm not doing anything that can't wait –"

"The most important thing you can do is stay still and try to take it easy," Kaoru sighed, giving the other boy a small smile, "Haruhi can go. Tachibana, Hotta and Aijima'll make sure she comes back, after all."

Haruhi was nudged out of the door, walking down the hallways and to the shops completely on autopilot, unsure about what had just taken place. She could feel the men's gazes burning her back, but she just collected what she'd been instructed to and paid with the money that had also been pushed into her grasp on the way out.

Dear mother in heaven, help her.


	3. Martyrdom

Kyoya was tired.

Honestly, he felt worse just sitting down and doing nothing than he did when he was actually helping, not that the others seemed to understand that. The "rest" they tried to impose on him made him want to fall into bed and sleep his life away in the peaceful, soft warmth. It gave his mind time to wander, when it wasn't crawling sluggishly through treacle. Most of all, it made the hunger he tried so desperately to ignore scratch and claw at his entrails, pain blazing as if they were on fire.

He stood, swaying a little on his feet for a moment, vision fading between dark spots and blurry lines before righting itself. No one seemed to notice, too busy running around before opening, so he was able to slip into the storeroom without attracting unwanted attention.

Closing the door behind him softly, he leaned against the painted wood for a moment, catching his breath. He could barely walk these days, it seemed. Some part of him was giddy from it, ecstatic that he'd been strong and resisted this long. However, he knew this wasn't strength; it was fear.

He met his own eyes in the large mirror hanging on the wall, too ornate for it to just be shoved out of sight like this yet serving no purpose in the restaurant. The ladies could be sensitive about their dining habits, after all, as many were. Not his mother, however…

He tilted his head, examining the way bones and tendons appeared through his skin so clearly. A few steps felt agonising, knees aching and painful to apply even his pitiful weight on, but he had to. He had to get closer, had to see. He was compelled to turn it all over in his mind, dissecting every part but still coming up with the wrong answers.

He focussed at the hunger pains, almost doubling over with their intensity, and thought of all the things he'd forbidden himself from tasting. Tender, pink flesh and ruby red blood that ran down from slits in the skin like dew drops in the morning. Fatty meat that fell apart on the fork, melted on his tongue. The smells of the restaurant, the kitchens.

His eyes shifted slowly, sluggishly. White and grey were overtaken by hideous red and black, hate curling between his liver and his stomach, next to the hunger that was nearly driving him over the edge. He wanted to stick his fingers in his eye sockets and yank them out, place them on his tongue and bite down, the sweet juices spreading in his mouth as he gave a hum of pleasure and a gasp of pain. Eyes were his favourite, had been since he was a child, but no. He couldn't indulge, couldn't be like her; ugly and twisted, bathed red in blood.

He was there when his mother and father came home from their hunt, the masks and clothes they wore soaked in vivid crimson. His mother was always elated, acting almost as if she was drunk, saying about how satisfied she felt as his father just looked down, staring at the floor. His arm wrapped around his chubbier torso, and he'd always say the same thing, a grimace twisting his bloodstained lips.

 **"I shouldn't have eaten so much."**

He saw how his father reacted to every comment made about his frame, and how everyone seemed to know about his wife's little… habit. He was ashamed. He looked sick. He'd put on some painful-sounding chuckle and say about middle age and a domestic life were finally hitting him. However, Kyoya was the only one to see the painful pinches his father would give his flesh, as if he could remove it from his body that way. Then, in stark contrast, was his mother.

People flung around words Kyoya didn't understand at the time, but soon grew to hate. To be ashamed of. Binger, greedy, glutton. As they said these things his stomach would twist painfully and he'd have to run into the bathroom, despite not having eaten a morsel of "human food" all evening. He hated her. He hated ghouls. He just… hated himself. Why couldn't he have been born human? They didn't have to worry about these things. If he were human, he'd eat to his heart's content and not feel this painful, cloying hunger.

But as a ghoul, he couldn't. That was what his mother did, and he couldn't be like her. He couldn't have the whispers following him, also. He currently had to deal with the old dears who saw how sickly and skinny he was, cooing over him as if he needed doting on, ruffling his hair and trying to convince him to eat just a few spoonfuls of food he couldn't stomach. He wanted to. He wanted to eat like them, and be full, and be strong. For his head not to swim when he stood up and for his friends to let him help around the club room. But he couldn't eat like he should, because he was ashamed to be a ghoul - to possibly end up like her.

His mother, in contrast, didn't give a shit about her reputation.

Or, more accurately, she revelled in it. She'd bare her teeth at the gossips, and they'd shrink back. She was strong, she hunted for herself, and they didn't. She was excited by the thrill of the chase, they just ate to live. You couldn't fairly hate someone for living this wretched existence, but you could hate them for enjoying it.

Kyoya knew his thoughts were weird. He knew no ghoul could ever understand. His father was at his wits end, sitting with him at the dining room table for hours, trying to convince him to take a bite of the raw, juicy, dripping hunk of flesh on his plate. To Yoshio's credit, he tried to entice him; fingers and flanks and tongues and livers. Eyes sat on the plate, drizzled in fresh blood and coffee. Everything smelled divine, trying so hard to push him over the edge, but he refused. He was an expert at dodging meals and snacks and anything else his family and friends tried to force on him "for the good of his health".

Blinking the ugly, over-saturated colours from his eyes, he thought back on what one might call the "trigger" of his odd behaviours. He called it an awakening, as if this was some sort of religious experience. Like a man who'd shrouded himself in atheism his whole life, dying and seeing heaven's gates before him and hear the angels' heavenly choir, reawakening with a new zest for life and pledging himself to the church. It was bizarre, and more than a little insane, but most things were.

It was Kuze, surprisingly, who opened his eyes to how he wasn't normal. He hated to admit it but, seeing his friend's face drain of colour and run away screaming, it had a big impact on him. He'd just looked down at his plate, with those disgusting eyes, and stared at the lump of meat so raw and fresh that it could've still had a pulse.

It was delicious. It was food. But… he couldn't eat it. He just felt sick, unable to even lift another morsel to his lips. He was the monster they talked about in stories, he was the one who hurt the heroes… Who didn't deserve a happy ever after.

It was childish to think back on now, to still be hurt by the revelation that was so obvious it was painful, but he couldn't help it. Everyone always told him to eat, as if it had no consequences. As if he wasn't robbing mothers and fathers of their children, and vice versa. As if starving wasn't something almost… noble. People wanted ghouls dead for a reason, after all.

He would never be like his mother. Despite the pain that was clawing at him, he refused to break down and binge. Refused to be a monster. He never asked to be like this, but he'd do his damnedest to be as close to good as possible.

Hunger was the best feeling, when that was the outcome.


End file.
